


Friendship and Lies

by Damerel



Series: Friendship and Lies [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damerel/pseuds/Damerel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Beyond Duty</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship and Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This references Simpson's past abuse and rape of Archie and its effects on him.

 

"That is not funny, Horatio."  For an instant I had believed him, before remembering how recently the Captain had granted us shore leave.  He would not do so again so soon.  And then I remember who I am addressing.  Horatio does not jest.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am, Mr Kennedy."  He looks too smug to be true.  "Pack what you need, and let us be off."

And then all is a blur of gathering essentials before the jolly boat leaves, and we find ourselves once again ashore.  This time we are in Plymouth, and I know well the way to the tavern which will best suit our means.  We book a room before settling to enjoy the mutton that they are serving.

"So what shall we do, Horatio, with such riches," I ask, when the edge of hunger has been blunted.  "Three whole days?"  I wave my fork around to convey my amazement while I finish my mouthful.  "The Captain must be in love!"

"Shh, Archie."  Horatio looks uncomfortable at my speaking so of Captain Pellew.  "He is merely being generous."

"And wishes us off the ship so there are fewer damned midshipmen to get in the way of the real work."

 _"Archie."_ He sounds pained now, and in deference to his feelings I let that subject drop.

"So what shall we do?" I ask, spearing another piece of meat.

He looks away from me for a moment and takes a drink from the tankard by his plate.  Then he looks around him as though to see if anyone is listening.  I wait agog, expecting at the very least that he is about to suggest we take up smuggling.  But it is nothing so straightforward…

"I think we should talk," he says.

I almost laugh, but his expression warns me in time.  "About what?"

He looks around again.  "Not here.  Later."

I let it go, but there's an uneasiness in my stomach now that won't go away. Perhaps he doesn't wish to spend his leave with me.  Or perhaps – I lay down my fork suddenly as I realise.  Perhaps he wishes to speak about what happened last time we had leave.  We haven't yet.  He awoke the next morning with the most punishing hangover it has been my pleasure to witness for some time, and my own state was not much better.  By the time we were sufficiently recovered to think of anything other than retaining the contents of our stomachs it was time to return to the Indy.  He has never mentioned it since, and I would rather forget.

"Archie?"

"Hmn?"  I look up to see his gaze on me, questioning.

"Are you all right?"

I nod quickly.  "Fine, Horatio.  I was just wondering whether we will have time to get you measured for your Admiral's uniform while we are ashore."

He looks at me as though I am mad.

"To save time on our next visit," I explain.  "You are bound to earn your promotion in our next engagement, after all."

"Archie!"  He tries to sound cross at my nonsense, but his cheeks are pink.

I continue to plague him mercilessly until it is time for us to retire.  And then, despite my best resolution, I am nervous.

I bolt the door to our chamber behind me, and stand with my back to it, watching him.  He is walking around the room, inspecting it.

"Does it pass muster, Mr Hornblower?"

He nods decisively, but I have the strange feeling that it is not in response to my question.  Then he walks across to where I am standing, and reaches a hand to touch my cheek.

"Horatio?"

I can hardly speak because I don't know what to say.  My heart is thudding as he smiles and moves closer to me.  Then his head bends and his lips meet mine.  I open my mouth to say something – anything – to stop this from happening, but somehow it means that his tongue slips between my open lips and I gasp as sensation explodes within me.  By the time he pulls away, we are both breathing hard.

"I've wanted to do that ever since last time," he tells me.  "I keep thinking of it, Archie, how wonderful it was with you."

Oh, Horatio.  You are wonderful, too.  But I cannot do it again.  I cannot.

I dust my hands down my jacket and step away from the door, forcing him to move away.  "Yet it was merely a rehearsal for the real thing, as I recall," I say lightly.  "Perhaps that is what we should be doing now – finding some ladies who will entertain us."

He is silent.

"After all, I know Plymouth well," I continue as I walk over to the dresser and sort through the small bundle of things I have brought with me.  "I remember clearly the places that Hether and Cleveland frequented while we were here before.  Perhaps we should go now – it is not very late."

I glance round at him.  His eyes are huge and dark with hurt.

"You don't want me."  His voice is flat, not at all like Horatio's.  "It didn't mean anything to you."

"Of course it did, Horatio.  Of course it did."  He _has_ to believe me. "But – don't you see, it cannot happen again.  You know the Articles; we cannot risk it."

"Damn the Articles."

I stare at him in amazement.  This is not the Horatio I know, nor could ever imagine.

"In this, at least," he qualifies, seemingly as shocked as I am by what he has said.  "Archie, if I want you and you want me, what can be so wrong?  We are not, after all, aboard any of His Majesty's ships, and it is not as though anyone will ever know."

I am still staring at him, but now I am searching for the words to stop this.  "But, Horatio – "

"Archie, please."  He is standing in front of me, and when I see the longing in his face, my voice dries.  Horatio wants me.

I smile at him.  "We had best get ready for bed then, Mr Hornblower."

It does not take long, and then we are together beneath the blankets.  He reaches for me almost straight away, whispering my name, wrapping his arms around me and bringing our bodies close together before he begins to kiss me again.  And again, I know the shock as his tongue strokes against mine.  God knows if we are doing this right, but it feels so good that I find I do not care.  He is warm against me, and his hands are moving gently on my skin.  I lose myself in the moment, in Horatio.

I come back to full awareness with a jolt as his hands begin to explore with purpose.  Moving away from his determined attentions, I twist so that he is on his back and I stifle his startled query with a kiss before my mouth moves down his neck and across his chest.  He becomes quickly caught up in the pleasure that my lips and tongue must be bringing him, for he gasps breathlessly at some of the things I do.  His hands are alternately in my hair, and stroking my shoulders, my back, as far as he can reach.  And then I'm moving down across his stomach and he's crying out softly with disbelieving anticipation, whimpering as I take him in my mouth.  His hands are fierce in my hair as he thrusts into me, but I do not mind – it is his excitement, nothing more, and it pleases me to know I can give him this.  It does not take him long, and then he is panting out his disbelief as I move back up the bed to lie beside him.  He clutches at me and holds me close.

"Archie – how – oh my God,"  He is half-laughing.  "I didn't know – how did you know to do such a thing?"

Dear Horatio – he is so young.  "Just wait until Hether comes back from his next trip to a brothel," I tell him.  "And then you – and the rest of the mess - will know in far greater detail than you might wish to about what is possible."

He is still flushed, his hair is loose, and his eyes are dark and soft; I have never seen him look more beautiful.  He kisses my jaw.  "Thank you," he says.  And then suddenly his expression changes.  "But what of you?" he asks.  "Should I do that for you too?"

God, no – I would not have him so debase himself for the world.  And anyway, he would be disappointed in his quest.  "There is no need," I tell him softly.  "I found my pleasure in pleasuring you."

It takes him a moment to comprehend my meaning.  "Oh," he says at last.  "I did not – is it so enjoyable?"

"It can be," I tell him, and rest secure in that knowledge.  I had never before thought such a thing was possible, but hearing his cries as I did everything I knew how to please him had changed the act to one of giving.  I can feel his breathing growing more rhythmic against my hair, and I realise that he is near to sleep.  I smile, and press closer against him.  Horatio.  
   
 

I wake to the sounds of the inn, of people moving around the building, and the smell of food being cooked.  It takes me a moment to remember exactly where I am, and then it comes back with a rush.  I carefully turn over to find Horatio lying on his back, sound asleep.  I can't help the smile that touches my lips as I look at him.  He is so beautiful, and so strong.  He laughed at me last night for saying so, but I know that greatness awaits him.  How can it not?

I'm half-way through getting dressed when he stirs, and then his eyes open. It takes him a few moments to awaken properly, and during that time I bombard him with ideas of where we can go today and what we might do to enjoy ourselves while best conserving our funds.

"Archie."  He raises a hand to stop me at last.  "Just – slow down.  I'm not yet awake and already you have had me eat two meals, visit a playhouse, walk three miles to find a bookshop which may or may not still exist, and all this before I am even dressed."

"Do not blame me if you cannot rouse yourself early enough for breakfast. Indeed, it is beyond me how you ever manage to be on time for your watch, the way you sleep."

He throws a pillow at me.  It misses.

"Let us hope your aim would be better were I a Frenchman," I tell him, "Or England will not be able to rest secure in her bed."

"Archie – "

 I know when to leave well alone; he is not always at his best in the mornings.  
   
 

We do not do a single one of the things I had proposed, save search for the bookshop which has indeed closed since I was last here, yet it is a wonderful day.  Horatio is happy, and he wants me with him to share in his happiness.  We could have spent the day swabbing the decks together and still I would be content.  As it is, I almost do not know how I can bear such delight.

We do not spend long over our evening meal; Horatio is anxious to return to the privacy of our room.  I demur long enough for one more drink when he would have gone, knowing that it will help.  He believes me to be teasing him, and no sooner are we through the door of our room than he is pressing up against me, whispering his desire.  His need is such that we are not even fully undressed before he takes me, face down upon the bed, with my breeches around my knees.  It is not so bad as I had feared, perhaps because he is too excited to last long.  And then he wishes to hold me afterwards.  I am the one who has to insist on getting properly undressed and washed, and I wonder again at the change that has come over Horatio that he is not instantly appalled at the thought of creases in his uniform.  Wait until tomorrow morning, I think, when desire is but a distant memory, and he will be chagrined.

The moonlight is so bright again through the window that I wonder how we are to sleep.  Horatio it seems has similar problems, for no sooner are we settled than he begins to talk.

"What are we to do when we are back aboard, Archie?"

"We will continue as we always have done," I tell him firmly.  "We cannot do otherwise."

"But – "

"We cannot!  Horatio, just think – if we were discovered…"

He sighs.  Then shifts in the bed.  "I suppose you are right," he concedes bitterly at last.

I draw a breath, shaky with relief.  At least he does not propose assignations in the cable tiers.

"But how am I to sleep when I know you are but yards from me, Archie?"  He has rolled onto his side, his head propped up on his hand as he looks at me. "When I watch you undress and climb into your own hammock without being able to touch you, what am I to do?"

"Why, you do what comes naturally," I tell him, striving for lightness.  I do not like the thought of even Horatio watching me like that.

He blushes then, and his eyes lower.  "Archie," he protests.

I smile at him.  "Good night, Horatio," I say, and turn over to go to sleep.  
   
 

I wake slowly from a delicious dream in which somebody is loving me, lips on my body, and hand wrapped around my flesh, moving gently and steadily. I'm loath to open my eyes for they do not happen often, these dreams, and when I wake from them, I don't want to touch myself.  Not since the time when Simpson found me doing so and woke the entire midshipmen's berth to tell them what I was doing.  I could not look any of them in the eye, but I still remember Cleveland's laughter.  Simpson tried to make me finish in front of them, and when I could not, he took me to be punished.  He does not – did not – like to be disobeyed.

I'm awake now, properly, but it hasn't stopped.  I realise what is happening and where I am, and that it is Horatio who is holding me and whose soft lips are trailing over my skin.  "Archie," he whispers, "I was beginning to think you would never wake up."  And then his lips are on mine, but his hand still works its magic until I gasp, and his tongue is in my mouth, gently, following the same rhythm as his hand.  I am clutching at him, desperate for more, until I cannot bear it and I sob as I spill over his hand.

When I recover myself I can see in the moonlight that he is smiling down at me, and my heart hurts with my love for him.  "Horatio," I whisper, and pull his head back down until our lips meet.  He slowly moves until his body is over mine, and my hands run down his back, feeling the strength in his muscles as he supports his weight above me.  Then he lowers himself, pressing his body against mine as though he needs to feel us touching at every point, his face buried into my shoulder, his breathing beginning to quicken as he pushes himself against me.  And as I feel his hardness against my thigh, I freeze.  Oh God, I cannot do this.  Not when he has loved me so tenderly, so gently; he has opened me up and left me defenceless.

His hand is between my legs now, seeking and finding.  At the intrusion, I cannot help it – my body jolts in reaction.  His breath comes faster.  "Do you like that, Archie?" he whispers, and another finger joins the first.

Oh God, I cannot…..  My eyes are screwed shut as I bury my fingers in his curls and hold his face close so he cannot see.  His lips are busy on my neck as his fingers work me, and from his breathing I know it will not be long before he wants me.

"Horatio," I manage at last.  He murmurs something, his breath warm and urgent against skin that feels so cold.

"Horatio, let me turn over."

"Want to see your face…"  His lips are still moving on me, but he's moving too, and in a moment it will be too late and I can't do it, I can't bear the thought of watching him as he thrusts and groans and sweats above me, just like Simpson.  Not Horatio.

" _No_."

Desperate, I push at him, thrusting him off me.  He does nothing to stop me. Instead, he's staring at me as though I've grown two heads, before his expression changes to awful realisation.

"Archie – did I do something wrong?  Did I hurt you?"

"No.  _No_.  I – It's – "  Oh God, why can't I control my voice?  "Can't we do it the other way?"

He's silent.

He doesn't want me any more.

"Please?"  I turn over onto my front.  "I'm ready now, Horatio."

Why can't I stop trembling?

There's a touch, a hand on my back, and I flinch.

"Archie.  Look at me."

I can't do it.  I can't face him.

" _Archie_."

His voice has changed.  He's angry.  I curl up and wait for him to leave.

His hand closes on my arm.  I curl tighter around the pain in my chest, keeping my eyes shut.  I've spoiled everything now and I cannot bear to see its ruin in his face.

"For God's sake, will you _talk_ to me?"  It's a command, not a request, but I could not obey even if I wanted to.  I'm shivering, and all I can do is wait for him to go.

I can feel the bed moving as he moves, and I think a sound escapes me as I realise that he's leaving me.  But instead, the cover is pulled up and draped over me, and then he's lying behind me, one hand stroking my hair back from my face.

"Archie?"  It's whispered, soft, but the question fills the room.  He will not let this go; he will never let it rest until he has his answer.

"I'm sorry."  It's all I can say, before the pain tears free and overwhelms me.  I bury my sobs in the pillow, but I know he knows.  And, true Horatio to the end, he does not show his disgust at such a weak display but leaves his hand on my shoulder, as though we are still friends.  
   
 

I don't know how long has passed in silence, but the shadows in the room have moved since I last looked.  I watch them, and there's no difference, but I look away for an instant, and when I look back, everything has changed.  And still Horatio lies there, awake, his silent question ringing in my ears.

I know I have to tell him.  He will not stop until he knows.  And what have I to lose after all?  I have already lost his regard, his friendship, and there is nothing left that matters.  How can I even think that I have pride when he has seen me cowering in fear from a man he stood up against, he has seen me fitting, and now he has seen me cry.

Slowly my reluctance changes and I realise that I want to tell him now; I want him to know the worst so that I no longer have to balance the joy of his presence with the fear of wondering when he will realise what I really am and leave.

"Horatio?"

"Yes."  It's neutral.  That helps.

"It was Simpson, do you see?"

And then my eyes close.  I have done it and there is no going back.

Silence.

"Archie, what do you mean?"  I feel the movement as he props himself up on his arm behind me.

How can he not understand?  And how can I say it?  There are no words.

"Archie?"  His voice is soft, against my hair.

And suddenly I have the words because I cannot bear this closeness when I know I will lose it.

"You didn't hurt me, Horatio.  He did."

There is silence for an instant, and then I can feel his whole body stiffening in disgust at its proximity to mine.  His hand bites into my arm. "Are you telling me – what _we_ did – that _Simpson_ … "

"Yes."  The bright day is done and I am for the dark.

His hand is bruisingly hard, then he pulls it away as if I scald him.  It has begun, then.

"Why didn't you tell me?"  He's shouting it.  I know sudden fear as he grips my shoulder, wrenching me round to look at him.  "Why did you let me -  do _that_?"

I cannot speak.

"Archie, _why_?"

His fury and confusion batter me so that I can't think.  "I don't know."

It isn't enough, is nowhere near enough.  "Horatio – I'm sorry."  I only wanted to please you, to make you happy.

"Oh, Archie."  Suddenly he lets go of me and  sits up, burying his head in his hands.  "Did I make you do it?"

Make me?  No.  Oh, _no_ , Horatio.  I wanted to – wanted -   But the words won't come out.

"I didn't even notice.  I was so wrapped up in my own pleasure that I didn't see how much you hated it."  His voice is low and bitter, full of self-hatred.  "I'm no better than Jack Simpson."

 _"No!"_   I will not let him think such things.  My hand flies out to touch him, to make him look at me, and then I realise and withdraw it before it can pollute him.  Instead I take a deep breath and start to speak.

"Horatio, you have done nothing wrong.  I – I'm the one who was wrong.  I'm sorry."

He looks at me, and I can see that he still does not believe me.  He will carry the blame for my failure, regardless of anything I might say.

"All right, Archie," he says quietly.  He lies back down beside me, close but apart.  The air between us sings with tension.

"Archie, why did you pretend?"

I have told him too many untruths.  This time, I will not.  "I liked it when we kissed."

He says nothing for a moment, and I can't tell whether or not he has understood my meaning.  Then he turns on his side and looks at me.  "What do you want to do tomorrow?  We have two full days left."

I stare at him.  He still wants my friendship, after all this?  Even knowing that I am Simpson's leavings?

"Anything," I say, and mean it.  As long as I am with him.

"Good," he says.  "Good."

There is an awkward pause.

"Horatio?" I ask at last.  I have to know.  "Do you – do you not mind?"

"Of course I mind, Archie."  It is said with heat, and I fall silent.

"I mind what he did to you.  I mind that I did the same."  I make a sound of protest, but he continues regardless.  "And I mind that you weren't honest with me."

God.  How could I think he might forgive me?

"Archie."  His fingers beneath my chin gently force my head up so that I have to meet his gaze.  "Don't lie to me again."

I swallow and look back at him.

He smiles then, with his eyes, before his arm begins to reach across my chest.  "Do you mind?" he asks, and waits for an answer.

I don't know if he sees the shake of my head because at his touch I am rolling close against him, my arms around him and holding him tightly, breathing his scent in deeply, sealing it inside my soul so that I can never forget it.  He holds me close in return, and if I tremble a little with joy, who is to know.

We lie there for some time, enough time for the moon to begin to fade.  I think I am nearly asleep when he says my name.

I raise my face from where it is resting against his skin and look at him.

"I liked kissing you too," he says.

I hold his gaze for a moment, to be sure he means what I think he does, and then smiling, lay my head back against him.

"There is one last thing, Archie."

His voice is the calm yet stern one he uses with the men, and I know he is about to give me an order.

"You will not do such a thing to me again.  You will never again lie because you think to protect me, do you hear?"

"I hear you, Horatio."  I entrust a brief kiss to his skin, and know he believes me to be sealing the promise I can never make.

 


End file.
